The Bloom of Youth
by InitialLuv
Summary: Some descriptive scenes and missing scenes from the second season episode "Angie's Choice."


**_Author's Note:_** This is a "missing scenes"/descriptive scenes fic involving the second season episode **"Angie's Choice**.**" **And just to keep things in a frame of reference:** "Angie's Choice" **is at the end of season two of _**Hardcastle and McCormick**_;** "Ties My Father Sold Me" **was at the beginning of season two. Which basically means that by **"Angie's Choice**,**"** Hardcastle has known for a while about McCormick's relatively father-less background.

And Happy Birthday (Saturday) to Daniel Hugh Kelly!

**-ck**

_Disclaimer: I do not own these beloved characters, and I am writing for fun and feedback, _**_not_**_ for profit._

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_**THE BLOOM OF YOUTH**_

**by InitialLuv**

He sat in the den, waiting on hold for Delaney to come on the line, thinking how much fun it'd been watching the kid with the kids.

When Nicky and Lindsey had appeared at the door last evening, looking so like wraiths in the rain, it had been somewhat of a shock. Instead of bad guys climbing the fence in the middle of the night or sneaking in during daylight hours dressed like delivery men, here were two pint-sized, bedraggled unknowns. He wasn't so far deluded that he hadn't realized his "protective" mode had quickly kicked in, no matter what McCormick tried to say about him being suckered. Frustrated Grandpa, maybe, but the kids were obviously in trouble, and no matter how much McCormick wanted to preach about rules and limits, there was a time and place. Kids that had just been abandoned didn't need to finish all of their vegetables. But they did need two pieces of pie, and a comfortable bed in a safe place.

Kinda like ex-cons who were grieving the loss of their best friend – the gatehouse was a lot more comfortable and safe than the gardener's trailer.

McCormick had been a little reserved with Nicky, less nurturing and more direct, and Milt thought he understood that. The kid was a punk, or was at least trying damn hard to be one: delivering a tough-guy, hardened glare from inside that ridiculous motorcycle jacket, which was almost like a security blanket for the boy. But Lindsey – well, she had quickly endeared herself to McCormick. Milt had to admit that he was also taken with Lindsey; she had a sweet naiveté that was completely the opposite of her brother's sneering suspicion. So it wasn't that unexpected when McCormick began doting on the girl. Joking with her at the table as he filled her plate. Seating Rags in his own chair, and occasionally pretending to converse with the stuffed dog. Calling the girl "sweetheart" and "honey." And after the kids had been tucked into Milt's bed, McCormick had rushed to run a glass of water to Lindsey when she'd called out. Called for "Uncle Milt" in fact, and that might have been a deciding factor in McCormick's actions right then – possessiveness, or jealousy. Because when the water from the kitchen tap hadn't tasted "right," McCormick had tried refilling the glass from two other taps, actually tromping downstairs to the hall bathroom and then back up again, before Lindsey had declared herself sated. And Milt didn't think that was exactly normal behavior for the young man.

Although he'd never seen McCormick interact with kids before, so he wasn't positive of that.

In fact, right now, McCormick was making pancakes. With chocolate chips. He also must have been putting on a show, because as Delaney finally picked up and Hardcastle began to fill him in on their unexpected houseguests, the judge had to plug one ear to shut out the sound of Lindsey's giggles and McCormick's laughter, both loud enough to carry through the house.

"No, Mike, we don't have any clue. I have a note, pretty brief, and an envelope with four hundred bucks in cash. The kids had bags with them, and McCormick was able to snag them and check 'em out while they were asleep, but there's nothing identifying in either one."

Another peal of laughter came from the kitchen – this time it even seemed like Nicky had joined in. Obviously only for the sake of his baby sister. Then there was a yell from McCormick. "Judge! Breakfast's ready!"

"_What's going on there, Milt_?"

"Pancakes. McCormick's playing house. We better hope we can find out who these kids belong to soon, or the kid – the big kid – is gonna want to adopt that girl."

Mike chuckled, trying to picture the ex-con as a fatherly type. "_You're not serious. Mark?_"

"Wait 'til we bring them in later. You'll see for yourself."

ooOoo

McCormick had held back at little when they first got to the police station, letting the judge take point and send the kids off with the child psychiatrist. Delaney had raised his eyebrows at Hardcastle, tipping his head slightly toward the younger man, but Milt had only given a small grin and shrugged, knowing the kid would give himself away sooner or later. And he eventually had, once he heard Dr. Rabin's recommendation that Nicky and Lindsey be placed in a foster home. McCormick began to champion earnestly for the youngsters to be placed in their custody in lieu of a foster home, claiming no one would make sure they'd get their vegetables as well as he could. Of course taking temporary custody of the kids had already been practically a done deal, something Mike and Milt had discussed on the phone, but the judge liked getting the kid worked up. It never ceased to entertain him.

They rode home in the pickup much like they had ridden to the police station – the kids between them, Nicky closest to him and Lindsey closest to McCormick. Lindsey had tried to crawl into McCormick's lap but he'd firmly refused her, saying it wasn't safe, and truly, the kids were so small it wasn't much of a squeeze at all. The middle lap belt just fit over the both of them.

Once back at the estate, Milt took the boy down to the beach for a man-to-man talk. He hoped the show of respect would get the kid to talk to him, tell him who the mystery woman was who'd sent him and his sister to his doorstep. The sister in question was back up at the house, watching cartoons with McCormick. And the ex-con was probably just as entertained as the seven-year-old.

Milt tried to be friendly. He tried to ignore the boy's stand-offish, unimpressed responses. He let the kid know exactly what situation he and Lindsey could have found themselves in, if he and McCormick hadn't been allowed to take them in. The kid shrugged it off. "That's life, Jack."

_How does a ten-year-old kid get so jaded?_ Milt wondered to himself. He persevered, telling Nicky how he couldn't help him, or his sister, or his mother, unless the boy met him halfway. He spoke logically and wisely and thought he _just_ might be getting through to the boy. Until Nicky completely changed the subject, asked if they could go "home," and really started to get on Milt's nerves.

But then a telling remark from the boy brought a sudden insight. Nicky indicated that his tough-guy, smart-ass exterior was more shield than weapon, and when the similarity finally hit Milt, it was with an almost audible _ding_.

_It's McCormick. The damn kid is McCormick._

"Pretty tough, not having a dad, huh?" he said casually, while closely watching Nicky's face.

Nicky obviously didn't like the assumption, or the implication. "You don't have to feel sorry for me – I've got a dad," he answered quickly, and then spun a yarn about where his father might be, what he might be doing, and the great things that would happen once he got back in touch. Milt listened between the lines, nodding fractionally, suddenly feeling like he understood this wannabe punk a lot more than he had realized.

And when Nicky's mouth eventually started spouting attitude again, Milt just smiled knowingly.

ooOoo

Lindsey was still in front of the television when Nicky and the judge came back up from the beach, but her guardian was no longer present. "McCormick!" Hardcastle called out.

"In the kitchen!"

"Hang on a second," Milt told the boy, pushing him gently toward his sister.

Once in the kitchen, the judge found McCormick seated at the table, looking through a tin of recipe cards. "I thought it would be nice to make some cookies or brownies or something for the kids, one of Sarah's specialties." He raised his head to smile at the judge. "I know whenever I had a rough day and I came in here and smelled something sweet baking, it helped. Oatmeal cookies can't fix everything, but they sure can't hurt." Turing back to the recipe tin, he continued to flip through the cards.

"I vote for her double chocolate chip," Hardcastle said. "But hold off on that for a minute. I need you to keep an eye on Nick. He finally came through with a name for his mom: Shelly Cambridge. Sounds kinda familiar. . . Anyway, I gotta go down and check my files."

Mark looked up slowly. "Uh, can't he watch TV with his sister?"

"Just entertain him. Maybe see if he wants to help bake the cookies."

"Yeah, he'll put in salt instead of sugar, or make sure to leave in a bunch of eggshells, for texture," Mark grumbled moodily.

Milt chuckled lightly. "He's just a kid. You act like you're afraid of him or something."

"Afraid of him," McCormick repeated with a scoff. "I was in prison with murderers and rapists. I'm not afraid of a ten-year-old." He rolled his eyes, then continued in a softer, more sincere tone. "He's an okay kid – maybe a little heavy on the attitude, but okay. I just don't have a lot of experience with kids, Judge. I don't know exactly how to handle him."

Hardcastle raised his eyebrows, looking curiously at the younger man. "You don't seem to have a problem with Lindsey."

Mark shrugged, grinning crookedly. "I have a way with women, Judge. What can I say?"

"Well, find a 'way' with Nicky. You don't want him to help you bake, fine. Do something else. Play a game with him. Just keep him out of my hair for twenty minutes or so." Milt began to leave the kitchen, but McCormick's slightly desperate question caused him to pause.

"A game. What kind of game? We don't have any kid games around here!"

Hardcastle cast his hands out impatiently. "I don't know! Just. . . Cards! Play some cards with him or something. Pick a game he can play. You know, like Crazy Eights or Go Fish."

On that advice Milt quickly departed the kitchen, heading for the basement.

McCormick sighed, pushing the recipe tin away and rising from the table.

_Cards. Right._

Then a sudden grin lit his face. Poker. Maybe he'd beat the kid's butt at poker. That'd put him in his place.

His step became quicker as he headed for the den.

ooOoo

Well, somebody got their butt beat at poker.

While watching the boy deftly handle the mechanics of the card game, Mark asked, in a non-committal way, how the trip to the beach had gone. Nicky basically responded that the beach visit had been beneath him, and that he had only gone to humor Hardcastle, because the "old guy" had wanted to talk. "You've been inside, you know that rap," the boy tossed out, almost as if he were discussing the weather.

Sergeant Parks was to thank for Nicky's knowledge that Mark had been in prison. When Dr. Rabin had asked Parks to take the boy and girl to the cafeteria for a burger earlier that day, the officer had "accidentally" let it slip to the kids that McCormick was an ex-con. Parks wasn't a big fan of Hardcastle, thought the judge's rehabilitation program was a joke, and disliked McCormick mainly on principle. Luckily the comment the sergeant had made had been over Lindsey's head, but Nicky had immediately understood. Unfortunately, what the boy didn't understand was that prison was a scary hell-hole, and that it was a place to fear, and to avoid. The boy disregarded Mark's warnings, just snickering to himself about how he'd snookered a clueless Hardcastle with a phony name. And McCormick got pissed.

Then things took a weird turn. Just as it had been easy to joke with and fawn over Lindsey, it was also surprisingly easy to grab Nicky by the arm, drag him out of the house, and sit him down on the front steps for a lecture. Soon he was briefly mentioning his past and drawing comparisons between himself and the boy, hoping desperately that Nicky would listen, and believe. Mark had spoken similarly to the at-risk youths that Hardcastle mentored, but none of those talks had been as important as this plea to this cocky kid, who was making dumb mistakes that seemed oddly familiar.

Hardcastle showed up at the tail end of the lecture, excited at what he had found in his files. Nicky grudgingly admitted that Hardcastle didn't have anything, but the judge couldn't be dissuaded. He lightly commended the boy on giving him an alias – "You're not so dumb, are you, huh?" – but then followed it up with a warning that the kid shouldn't give him any more tests.

Nicky lost any semblance of control at that. He jumped to his feet, angrily threatened both adults, and then disappeared into the house, leaving them with the echo of his words and of the slammed door.

"Ah, he's scared," Milt said dismissively, and then connected the dots for McCormick. The name Nicky had given him was an alias for Angie Bloom, a former prostitute, now rehabilitated. The judge started in on what their next steps would be, but it didn't take him long to notice that McCormick wasn't listening. The young man had a pensive frown on his face, and a distant look in his eyes.

"What's the matter with you?"

Mark glanced back at the house. "Oh, it's the kid," he said quietly. "I like him, but he worries me." He rose from the steps and started for the door, but a soft chuckle from Hardcastle caused him to turn around.

"What's so funny?"

Milt shrugged with a smile. "Nothin'. Just makes sense."

"What's that supposed to mean?" McCormick asked, his voice raising in pitch. He peered at the judge suspiciously.

"Nothing," Milt repeated quickly. He rose as well, and joined his friend near the front door. "But I'll tell you, I'm kinda glad I wasn't around you when _you_ were ten."

Mark stood frozen for a moment, staring at the older man's back as he entered the house. Then with a brisk shake of his head, the ex-con followed, murmuring softly to himself.

"I kinda wish you had been."

**_END_**

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_**A/N:**_ One of my favorite things about this episode is early in, when Hardcastle is tucking Lindsey in bed and McCormick and Nicky walk into the bedroom. The two – man and boy – position themselves on opposite sides of one of the bedposts, both leaning against the post. I think it's a great shot, showing how similar the two are, without knocking the viewers over the head to do it. It's brief but brilliant.

**-ck**


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